


Rental

by very



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Community: fifthmus, Denial of Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/very/pseuds/very
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are thoughts you have in your head that you don’t ever, ever tell anyone, and if Shindou were even halfway normal Yoshitaka wouldn’t need to explain it to him using simple words of one syllable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rental

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aoigensou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoigensou/gifts).



“I’m bored,” Shindou moans, his voice as anguished as if someone had just told him he wasn’t eligible to enter the qualifiers for the Samsung Cup. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you broke your Xbox.”

Yoshitaka bristles. “Okay, for one, _I_ did not break my Xbox, it broke itself. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that _someone_ , and I am not pointing out anyone in particular, _Shindou_ , keeps bringing over sketchy black-market rental games with those stupid barcode stickers on the discs. I am pretty sure it says in the manual somewhere not to put stickers on the disc, or to rent discs ever, and everyone knows that people treat rental games like shit, so the fact that my disc drive died is probably the fault of the person who keeps bringing over illegal rental games, _Shindou_ ,” he says sternly, giving Shindou absolutely no room in which to wiggle.

Shindou lets out an aggrieved sigh. “So it’s my fault you’re too cheap to buy more games?”

“Dude! Okay, first of all, do you know anyone else who even has an Xbox? I didn’t think so,” Yoshitaka says, answering his own question before Shindou has a chance to say something dumb. “And it’s real rich you bitching about me being cheap when you’re still bumming off your parents.”

Shindou turns to glare. “For your information, I was gonna move out last year but Dad said that with how well I’ve doing I’ll probably have enough in my savings and investments next year that I should be able to do a down-payment on an apartment, so that’s the plan.”

Yoshitaka does more than well enough compared to his peers, almost never gets through an open or an invitational without at least earning a semi-finalist’s purse, qualifies in more preliminaries and earns more match fees than almost anyone else under 25, but it’s almost humiliating to be so bluntly reminded about how big the step between runner-up and winning the top prize. “Investments?” he asks quickly so he doesn’t say anything else. “You seriously expect me to believe that you of all people have investments?”

Shindou waves his hand around in a sort of lopsided circle. “Yeah, when I won the Wakajishi Tournament the first time Mom told Dad about it and he set me up something through work,” he says, crouching down and running his finger along the spines of Yoshitaka’s manga. “I don’t really know the details off-hand, but if you want I can get you some info. I’m sure he’d hook you up,” he offers.

Yoshitaka rolls his eyes; he’s pretty sure nobody does investment banking for schmucks like him with just 200 thousand in savings. But then again it’s not like Shindou has to offer, so he sucks it up and says, “Thanks, yeah, I’ll look into that.”

But his composure only goes so far; when Shindou picks up the tennis ball lying next to the bookshelf and tosses it in the air, Yoshitaka springs into action. “Don’t even! I swear to God, Shindou, if you break anything―”

“I’m not gonna break anything!” Shindou protests, but he lets Yoshitaka take the ball from his hands and go find somewhere safer to stash it, which just ends up being in the corner of his futon closet. “Urgh, why don’t we just play go?” he asks.

Yoshitaka sighs. “Shindou, I just spent over three hours with you in the salon.”

“But we were playing all those old dudes,” Shindou says. “You and I haven’t played a game in like almost a week.”

“We played a game _this morning_ ,” Yoshitaka points out.

“But like on the phone; that totally doesn’t even count,” Shindou says, rolling his eyes.

“It totally does count! Phone go is just as legitimate as NetGo or go on a physical board,” he argues. “So you have achieved your Waya quota for the day, so just sit down. Besides, the interview’s coming on in like twenty minutes.”

Shindou mutters something too loud for Yoshitaka to have not been supposed to hear it, but it’s too slurred to know if Shindou meant to do so on purpose.

“Excuse me?” Yoshitaka asks sharply.

Shindou gives him a look, the intimidation factor of his furrowed brows negated by the definitely sulky twist to his mouth. “I bet you don’t give Isumi a quota,” he says before spinning around and devoting his attention to Yoshitaka’s bookcase of novels.

Yoshitaka rolls his eyes as hard as he can; even if Shindou isn’t actually looking at him, he’ll have to feel the force of Yoshitaka’s disdain searing into his back. “Turns out I don’t need to enforce a quota with anyone other than you,” he says.

Shindou lets out a dismissive pfft. “So I’m the jerk for wanting to do stuff. Got it.”

“I’m playing the world’s tiniest violin just for you,” he says. “Stop dicking around; it’s not like there’s that much time to kill before the interview anyway.”

Shindou heaves a long, guttering sigh. “I don’t even want to watch it,” he complains. “You know a bunch of people on the Internet, right? Why can’t you just make one of them translate it for you?”

“Because none of them have a PhD in girly-haired Korean dickwads,” Yoshitaka says. “Come on, like you weren’t going to watch it anyway.”

“I wasn’t going to watch it!” Shindou shoots back, rocking on his heels and continuing to stare steadfastly at Yoshitaka’s collection of books and light novels.

“Just like you don’t watch all his games, right? Like the one against Choe Hyeon-jun in the Chunwon semi-finals with the hanami ko where he opened with the sanrensei―” Yoshitaka goads.

“Dumbass; he played tasukigata,” Shindou says witheringly. “You’re thinking of their match in the Kisung.”

Yoshitaka benevolently allows his insult to slide as payment for Shindou’s rising to his bait. “Now that we’ve established how much attention you’re not paying Ko Yeong-ha, let’s carry on. Sit your ass down; we’ll watch some TV,” he says, sitting himself down on the couch and grabbing the remote.

“TV is so _boring_ ,” Shindou complains, but he trods over and throws himself down on the couch, the springs creaking in protest against the unnecessary strain. “What’s on?”

“How about you give me two frigging seconds and then maybe I’d be able to figure that out?” he proposes, turning on the TV. He almost goes to put the remote on the side-table but it’s on Shindou’s side, and if Shindou gets control of the remote he will never give it up, so instead Yoshitaka sets it down on the armrest on his side.

“Urgh, whatever, it doesn’t matter, it all sucks,” Shindou says, puffing a breath up at his bangs to blow them out of his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to play go? We can play super-speed go,” he says, turning to shoot a toothy grin Yoshitaka’s way. “Super-speed is like regular speed go except faster,” he explains.

Yoshitaka rolls his eyes. “Figured that out, thanks. No. No go, no speed go, no super-speed go, no hyper-speed go, no―”

“Wait,” Shindou says, straightening with interest. “Hyper-speed go? How does that work?”

“It doesn’t. No one plays hyper-speed go. You especially are not going to play hyper-speed go,” Yoshitaka tells him sternly, before leaning over to pick up the remote and call up the channel guide. “Okay, so it looks like we’ve got that cop show, or we could watch Sazer X, or―ooh, the Swallows are going up against the Dragons,” he says, switching to the baseball game.

Shindou sighs. “Baseball’s totally lame. What’s the point of watching a bunch of guys standing around?” he asks.

“Dude, if you shit-talk the Swallows, I am kicking you out and you’re never coming back,” Yoshitaka threatens.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Shindou says.

“And I’m just saying, shut your cakehole,” he retorts. “You don’t wanna watch baseball, don’t. Feel free to amuse yourself.”

“Oh hey!” Shindou says, leaning to the side so he can fetch his phone from his pocket. “Oh man, I wish you reminded me earlier,” he says, flipping open the phone and tapping away on the keys.

Yoshitaka contemplates how messy it would be to clean up Shindou’s remains should he choose to encourage him out the window. “What the hell have I been _doing_ , then?”

Shindou rolls his head back on his shoulders before returning his attention to his phone. “I mean in a useful way,” he says.

There are probably services that clean up bloodstains, Yoshitaka is pretty sure. “And what’s useful? Texting your wife for instructions?”

Shindou’s shoulders hunch, and he fumbles his phone through his fingers and down to the tatami. “Dude, that’s not funny,” he says, voice a little strangled as he leans down to retrieve his phone.

Yoshitaka snorts. “Actually, it’s kind of hilarious.”

“It seriously isn’t,” Shindou complains, but he’s back to poking at his phone again so he can’t be that annoyed.

“It’s not my fault it’s true,” he says, kicking at Shindou’s nearest foot.

“It’s not, and if you ever say it in front of Touya I am shoving you in front of a train,” Shindou threatens, kicking him back. “Okay, this is what I was doing. Tada!” he says, shoving his phone in Yoshitaka’s face.

Yoshitaka takes it and stares at it. “‘Entertain Me’?” he reads off the screen. Other than that demand there is a single large text box that says ‘Press 0’.

“Right?” Shindou says, grinning. “Go ahead, press 0.”

“Could have figured that out for myself, thanks,” Yoshitaka says, and gives the key a push.

The text box that had demanded he press the button flashes, the text disappearing and the box turning into a solid block that rapidly flicks back and forth between black and white. The flickering slows, and then text reappears in the box. “‘Lick elbow’,” Yoshitaka reads.

“Got it!” Shindou says, and astonishingly enough he pushes up his three-quarter-length sleeve and sticks his tongue out as he attempts to manoeuvre his left elbow towards his mouth.

Yes, Yoshitaka reflects as he watches Shindou use his right hand to push his bent elbow towards him as he cranes his neck and sticks his pink tongue out just about as far as it must be able to go. Shindou is attempting to lick himself. And failing. Badly.

“Eh! Uhn! Ae oun eh―” Shindou starts, the sounds coming out of his mouth entirely incomprehensible. Then he straightens his arm, rubbing his inner arm against his side to wipe off the spit, then bends his right arm. “Okay, I’m gonna try the other one,” he warns unnecessarily before sticking his tongue out again and waggling it, as if the effort will suddenly gain him the inches he’s obviously short.

Finally Yoshitaka rediscovers his capability for speech. “Oh my God, you moron. Okay, that’s not gonna work. Also, when you bend your arm like that your elbow pivots even further away. You’re never gonna do it,” he advises.

“Wait! That’s awesome! Hey, thanks for the tip,” Shindou says brightly before swapping arms again, this time keeping his left arm fully extended while he seeks out with his tongue. “Augh eun ul―”

“I just said it’s not gonna work,” Yoshitaka says, rolling his eyes. “Look, you’re so far away you might as well be in China. This is where your elbow is,” he says, reaching forward and tapping Shindou’s elbow.

Shindou leans forward, thrusting his tongue out determinedly, but luckily his reach hasn’t gotten any better and Yoshitaka manages not to get slobbered on before he can pull his hand away. “Urgh, you almost got me,” he complains.

Instantly Shindou’s eyes narrow in the way Yoshitaka’s seen far too often on the other side of the goban right before Shindou turns a thirty-point deficit into a fifteen-point landslide in his favour. “Of course!” he says, abandoning his own arm and seizing Yoshitaka’s. Yoshitaka barely has time to yelp in surprise before Shindou’s leaning in, and the warm, wet slide across his forearm and elbow is so bizarre that it takes whole seconds before he registers the sensation as Shindou’s tongue.

“Oh, fricking gross, dude!” Yoshitaka exclaims, leaning forward and rubbing his wet arm against Shindou to wipe it off on Shindou’s shirt, making sure to elbow him none-too-gently in the process. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted, a bunch of your cooties.”

Shindou shoves him away and tugs at his baseball tee to straighten it out after Yoshitaka bunched it up. “Grow up! Cooties aren’t even real, you jerk,” he complains, like he has a right to complain about anything after he just licked Yoshitaka.

“I figured that was inclusive enough to cover all of the horrible diseases you might have,” Yoshitaka shoots back. “Urgh. You know it doesn’t even count, right?”

Shindou grins. “It was just ‘lick elbow’, right? You didn’t say it had to be my elbow,” he points out, and when Yoshitaka picks the phone up from where he dropped it in his lap, he groans when the message on the screen backs Shindou up.

“Okay, whatever. Time to generate a new distraction for you,” Yoshitaka says, pressing 0 again. The screen flickers, and then it announces its new directive: “‘Make out’?” he reads sceptically. “Pretty sure if you had someone to make out with, you wouldn’t have to ask your phone to amuse you.”

Shindou tilts his head to one side as he considers it. “Maybe with like with a pillow or something?” he proposes.

Luckily the throw pillow is already on Yoshitaka’s side of the couch. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns Shindou, squaring his body towards Shindou to make the pillow as small a target as possible.

Shindou shrugs. “Whatever. I could just make out with you,” he says.

Yoshitaka goggles. “How about you never say those words ever again?” he somehow manages to choke out.

Shindou rolls his eyes. “Like you’ve never thought about it,” he says, so matter-of-fact about it as if it wasn’t even a question, as if that was something perfectly normal people talk about, and it’s completely not fair because even if he’s had those kinds of thoughts it’s not like they were serious or anything.

“It’s just―” Yoshitaka splutters, not even sure what words he meant to connect, but sure that he can’t allow Shindou to control the conversation or they’re going to keep talking about this. “No one thinks about that,” he tries again.

“Everyone thinks about that,” Shindou states. “I’ve always wondered about it,” he says musingly.

“About―about kissing me?” Yoshitaka asks, pressing his hot palms flat against the tops of his thighs to try and keep them from building up sweat.

Shindou laughs. “Yeah, like, once or twice, sure. I meant kissing in general, though. Like, it seems so weird, right? I mean, people’s mouths are all dirty and stuff, and it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with sex―”

“Shindou, I am absolutely not having sex with you,” Yoshitaka blurts, desperate to cut off this line of inquiry before he pictures it because the rare stray thought of sticking his tongue in Shindou’s mouth is very different from thoughts of sticking anything else anywhere else.

Shindou’s expression dissolves in full-face furrow of disgust that causes dimples to appear high in his cheeks. “Um, yeah, no thanks,” he says, and Shindou is definitely not allowed to be the one revolted here.

“I wasn’t offering!” Yoshitaka growls.

“I wasn’t asking!” Shindou protests.

“But you wanted to kiss me!” he shouts, and he realizes his voice is too loud and his breathing is too fast and his face is too hot and his hands are slick against his cargo pants.

Shindou frowns. “I was just saying I was curious about it and it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like I’m in love with you or anything.”

And given everything he’s said it’s stupid to be offended at that, but he can’t help it. “Then go kiss someone you’re in love with instead,” he says, fingernails digging into canvas. “Go bother―” he starts, breaking off before he says Touya’s name, because if jokes about his eternal Friday night sure-they’re-not-dates with the wife rile Shindou up so much then this would definitely go past the point of no return.

Somehow, knowing what he does now about Shindou’s proclivities, it doesn’t seem so funny any more.

“Someone else,” Yoshitaka tacks on instead.

Shindou gains a considering look. “You know, I’ve kind of been thinking about asking Isumi.”

“To what, go out with you? Are you into him? You know he likes older guys, right?” Yoshitaka says, fumbling for whatever thread of the conversation will allow him to wrangle it out of these dangerous woods and back to the simpler territory of how much of a complete simpleton Shindou is for not liking baseball.

“No! Just to find out what it was like. Kissing, I mean. Someone my age should know how to kiss, right? How have I missed out on this?” Shindou laments.

That’s a very good question. “Seriously? Didn’t you used to have a girlfriend or something?” Yoshitaka asks, because he’s pretty sure Shindou hasn’t been this way all this time.

Shindou quirks an eyebrow in thought. “What? Are you crazy?”

“No, no, you totally had a girlfriend, didn’t you? You kept giving lessons to her high school go club or something and she tried to pay you and you got all offended about it,” he says, the details becoming clearer in his memory as he thinks it over. “Fujiwa, or Fujino, or something like that.”

Shindou smacks a fist against his open palm. “Oh, Akari! Urgh, no way; are you kidding? She’s my _neighbour_ ,” he says, drawing out the word like it’s a damnation.

And maybe to Shindou it is. “People kiss neighbours all the time. Or are you just not into... neighbours?” he asks, giving the word just enough emphasis that even Shindou should be able to pick up what he means.

Judging from the way Shindou lowers his gaze, he probably did. “Yeah, not so much,” he says, coughing to clear his throat.

“So that’s why you figured you’d ask Isumi?” Yoshitaka asks.

“Well, yeah,” Shindou says. “I mean, I don’t even know anyone else who’d kiss another guy, so...” he trails off.

Except for the prissy purple-suited prince of the go world who prowls after Shindou as if Shindou were the wounded gazelle to his starving lion.

Maybe that’s kind of mean. Maybe there’s a completely non-gay explanation for the purple. And the pink. And the prowling.

“Okay, but you can’t just ask him ‘cause he’s gay,” Yoshitaka says. “I mean, if you’re not actually into him then you shouldn’t mess around with him.”

Shindou wrinkles his nose. “I wouldn’t be messing with him; I’d tell him I was just curious.”

Yoshitaka snorts; he’s heard that associated complaint far too many times from Isumi to let it slide. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d love being used for your self-discovery.”

“You are such a jerk, you know that? That’s not what I said,” Shindou protests, aiming a punch at his side, but Yoshitaka’s able to knock it aside with his elbow.

“Yeah, that’s totally what you said, actually,” Yoshitaka points out.

“All I was saying was that people think about kissing other people all the time,” Shindou argues. “Say you were dumped on a tropical island,” he starts.

Yoshitaka sighs. “Are we playing Shoot, Screw, Marry?” he asks.

Shindou’s forehead wrinkles in his confusion. “What?”

“Dude, how sheltered were you?” Yoshitaka asks, not entirely facetiously. “Okay, so Nase, Sakurano, and Sasaki: who would you shoot, who would you screw, and who would you marry?”

Shindou’s brows lower further. “Uh... do I have to choose?”

Rolling his eyes wouldn’t sufficiently display his feelings, so he rolls his head about his shoulders instead. “Yes, that is the _entire point_ , thank you for missing it. So of those three I’d shoot Sakurano, because if I have to hear her call Isumi ‘Shin-chan’ one more time no one’s going to be able to stop me; I’d screw Sasaki, because she’s freaking smoking hot; and I’d marry Nase, since she’s also pretty hot and she’s probably the only person I could stand on an ongoing basis.”

Shindou still looks sceptical. “This is the dumbest game ever,” he complains.

“The guy who invented dice-roll go better watch he doesn’t step on the shards of his glass house,” Yoshitaka warns him. “And hurry up, it’s your turn. Or still is, anyway, since you made me take yours. Hayashibara, Nishigawa, and―” he pauses before figuring he might as well throw Shindou a bone―and oh, gross, he’s going to need brain bleach to get that mental image out of his head, thanks; the last thing he needed was to think of Shindou on his knees. “―Tatsumoto,” he says, picking the very male tow-headed outsider their age who just went pro this year.

“Uh...” Shindou trails off. “I don’t really want to kill anybody, though.”

“Then just pretend you’re shooting them full of sedatives so they go off and have a nap or something,” Yoshitaka says, waving off his hesitation. “C’mon, just pick.”

“Uh...” Shindou starts again, gaze wandering over Yoshitaka’s shoulder as he thinks. “Shoot Nishigawa, since I don’t think she’s ever gotten past the first preliminary of _anything_ , screw Tatsumoto, since he’s got kind of a ridiculously nice face, and marrying Hayashibara’s probably not too bad since holy crap, did she ever kick ass at the Yìng Shān Hóng Cup, so playing her on a daily basis would probably be pretty fun,” Shindou reasons. “Wait, does ‘marry’ get sex too? Why would you marry someone if you weren’t going to have sex with them on a regular basis? Is it too late to change my mind?”

“Because that is how the game goes,” Yoshitaka says, very slowly and with great deliberation. “It’s not called ‘Pick Your Super Favourite Wonderspouse’. Three people, three categories, no hedging.”

“Fiiine,” Shindou accepts, though it sounds more like a complaint. “Okay. Saeki, Komiya, and Isumi?”

“Dude! I gave you a dude; you can give me a chick,” Yoshitaka protests.

“Three people, three categories, no hedging,” Shindou parrots back with such smugness that Yoshitaka feels absolutely no remorse when Shindou squawks after Yoshitaka kicks him in the ankle. “Ow!”

Yoshitaka smiles benevolently. “Okay, fine,” he says. “I’d marry Isumi since I have the most faith in his ability to be someone I could tolerate on a daily basis, and... well, huh. I guess I’d screw Komiya, since doing it with Saeki’d be kind of like doing my older brother, so sorry, Saeki, but I’ll shoot him,” he says. “So you’re up next: Kadowaki, Honda, and... Ko Yeong-ha,” he says in a fit of inspiration.

Shindou pulls a face. “Urgh, urgh, urgh; I’d shoot that stupid bastard in his stupid face and roll his body in a ditch,” he says with absolutely zero hesitation. “Uh, then―I’d marry Honda, since I like him the best, and Kadowaki’s kind of old but he’s still kind of hot I guess so I’d screw him. So...” he starts, then stops himself. “Wait, how do we know the game is over?”

“When someone can’t make a decision,” Yoshitaka says. “Ochi, Ko Yeong-ha, and Ichiryuu Kisei,” he challenges.

Shindou makes a gagging noise. “That’s not fair!”

Yoshitaka grins. “Hey, if you answer, you can throw anyone you want back at me. So?”

He grimaces. “Urgh,” he repeats. “Uh... so I guess I’d shoot Ochi, because he’s kind of a tremendous dick. And... if I marry Ichiryuu Kisei, then I’d at least get to learn from his go,” he justifies, which sends Yoshitaka into a fit of laughter that has him rocking against the side of the couch.

“Hey!” Shindou protests, smacking him on the arm. “That’s totally not funny!”

“Totally is,” he manages to refute before collapsing into another round of laughter.

“Shut up! I gave you totally awesome people to pick from and you gave me total crap. This is your fault!” Shindou complains.

Yoshitaka sucks in a deep breath and manages to draw himself upright. “Okay, yeah, yeah, it’s my fault. It is entirely my fault that you’d marry Ichiryuu Kisei for his―for his go,” he barely manages to get out before he dissolves once more into laughter. “Oh man, you know what makes this funnier, is he’s already married. You’d have to get in some kind of cat-fight with his wife over the right to make his miso in the morning―”

“You are the worst person I know,” Shindou declares. “The absolute worst person, the worst, worst person.”

“―and then you’d have to establish a pecking order, like who’s First Wife and who’s Second Wife, and can you only _imagine_ how they’d have to rewrite Ichiryuu Kisei’s profile whenever they feature him in Go Weekly,” Yoshitaka sobs, gasping for air in between cackles.

“I _hate_ you,” Shindou moans. “I hate you the most out of everyone I’ve ever met in my entire―wait, you totally already used Ko Yeong-ha earlier; that is not allowed,” he protests, straightening up in his delight at having caught Yoshitaka out.

Yoshitaka wipes at his watering eyes and tries to find his composure again. “Because you’re such an expert at this game,” he says, sitting up as straight as he can to try and claim some sort of authority for himself. “So, you’d shoot Ochi, you’d marry Ichiryuu Kisei, and you’d...” he trails off, not able to help the Cheshire grin he gains in his expectation.

Shindou heaves a sigh. “And Ko Yeong-ha’s left over, so...” he says.

“He’s left over, like you’re forfeiting?” Yoshitaka goads.

Shindou bristles. “He’s left over, like fine, since there’s just ‘screw’ left then I’d screw him,” he says through gritted teeth.

Yoshitaka gives Shindou his most pleasant smile. “And you’d hate every second of it, of course,” he says.

“I would _loathe_ it,” Shindou declares.

“You’d be absolutely, completely, entirely miserable while fucking the living hell out of that prettyboy with his long, curling eyelashes and his cascade of russet locks,” he grins, batting his own very-much insufficient eyelashes at Shindou.

Shindou punches him in the arm. “Don’t be super gross,” he complains, and oh man, the decidedly red flush patching his cheeks make up for the fact that Shindou manages to tag him on the funnybone. “Kuwabara Hon’inbou, Ogata Meijin, and Touya Meijin,” he challenges.

Yoshitaka puffs, unimpressed. “Easy. I’d screw Ogata Meijin, because he seems like he’d actually know how; I’d marry Touya Meijin, because who wouldn’t marry the best go player in our lifetime; and I’d be more than happy to help Kuwabara-sensei off to the next life so that Hon’inbou is up for grabs again,” he says, rattling them off without hesitation. “Okay, so how about...” he starts, casting about back in their own peer group again. “Iijima, Fuku, and Touya,” he says, the last name emerging from his mouth before he can think better of it.

Shindou’s eyes go very wide, but he barrels ahead. “Uh... I guess I’d shoot Iijima since he’s way too insufferable to do anything else with. And I guess I’d marry Fuku, since he’s pretty awesome and we could have ridiculous marathon sessions of speed go and maybe I could help him focus and finally get through the pro exam this year. And Touya’s kind of hot or something, so that’d work out,” Shindou says, lowering his gaze and watching his hands as he taps his spread-steepled fingertips together.

Yoshitaka snorts. He knows he should be completely unsurprised, but he’d expected Shindou to wax on about Touya’s flawless diamond focus during fuseki or his unbreakable iron lock on yose or whatever incredibly amazing innovation Touya has pioneered this week. But no, apparently Shindou actually does have a thing for horrible kappa hair and a pastel wardrobe. “It’d work out, huh? You know it doesn’t actually count unless you say it, right?” he pushes.

Shindou looks up, catching his eye before issuing a deliberate shrug. “Whatever; I’d do him,” he says, managing to keep eye-contact for only a moment more before his gaze flickers away.

Yoshitaka can’t help himself. “Damn, Shindou,” he says. “Man, this is it, isn’t it? This is why you’ve had such a raging hard-on for him: it’s because he gives you an actual, literal raging hard-on.”

“You are so full of shit,” Shindou complains, fidgeting, and Yoshitaka can’t help but flick his gaze down to Shindou’s crotch to make sure he actually doesn’t have a hard-on, raging or otherwise.

He laughs. “Sure I am. You’re the one who thinks he’s hot,” he points out.

Shindou glares at him. “In comparison.”

Yoshitaka rolls his eyes. “Sure, sure. So, Touya, Ko Yeong-ha, and...well...” he trails off, trying to figure out who another ‘hot’ guy would be.

“What’s with your obsession with Ko Yeong-ha today?” Shindou gripes.

“The whole reason you’re here today is to translate the interview before his game for me,” Yoshitaka says. “Besides, isn’t he in all those girly mags in Korea? So if girls like him, you gays probably do, right?”

“You are such a―” Shindou starts, but Yoshitaka talks over him.

“Chop-chop, Shindou,” Yoshitaka says. “Stop stalling. Time’s a-ticking.”

“Ko Yeong-ha, you, Touya,” Shindou rattles off, brow furrowed in a glare.

You, Shindou said. You. As in him. As in Yoshitaka.

Yoshitaka opens his mouth seconds before he can find the words. “How did I end up in there?” he asks, and in his mind he thought he was going for commanding, but it comes out in a croak.

Shindou’s glare only sharpens. “You trailed off dramatically! Then you demanded answers! I thought it was implied!”

“It was not implied! It was very not implied!” Yoshitaka protests, his voice running into a register he hasn’t hit since he was fourteen. “And wait, who’s which what now?” Because if Shindou’s been thinking about―

“I’d shoot Ko Yeong-ha―I’ll shoot him every time, so stop giving him to me,” Shindou complains. “And between you and Touya, I’d much rather spend every night until the end of my days with him than with you―”

“Don’t you already?” Yoshitaka snipes.

“―so I’d marry him in a heartbeat. You, I figure we could get smashed and have a horrible one-night stand we’d both regret―” Shindou starts, glaring.

“Oh come the hell on! Earlier you wanted to make out and now you’re too good to sleep with me sober?” Yoshitaka demands to know, glaring right back.

“―so yeah, you’re ‘screw’,” Shindou finishes. “I didn’t say I _wanted_ to sleep with you, I just said I’d _thought_ about it, which is totally―”

“I thought you said ‘make out’!” Yoshitaka protests. “Not―not―”

“―not the same at all; everybody thinks about that, I mean, look at this stupid game, right? People totally think about it,” Shindou continues, words starting to slur together as his speech gets faster and faster trying to outpace Yoshitaka’s interruptions. “They just pretend they don’t, because―”

“Because it’s weird!” Yoshitaka finishes for him. “It’s weird, okay? And I hate to be the one to break it to you but it’s especially frigging weird when it’s another guy, all right? That’s why people don’t talk about it, because it’s weird and gross and people just don’t.” Because there are thoughts you have in your head that you don’t ever, _ever_ tell anyone, and your ideas about how they might be in bed definitely fall into that category, and if Shindou were even halfway normal Yoshitaka wouldn’t need to be explaining it to him using simple words of one syllable.

Shindou’s eyes narrow, and he actually takes a moment to think before he speaks. “I’m not interested in you,” he says shortly.

Yoshitaka bristles. “Well, fuck you too,” he grates out.

“Dude, what the _hell_ ,” Shindou snaps. “You can’t get pissed off both ways.”

“Which ways?” Yoshitaka asks before he thinks better of it.

Shindou leaps upon the opportunity. “You said it was gross. I said I wasn’t into you like that. You can’t be pissed off both when you thought I wanted to jump your bones and now when you know I don’t,” he says.

His heart twists inside his chest. “Did you say you weren’t just because I said it was gross?” Yoshitaka asks.

“I said I wasn’t because I’m not,” Shindou says flatly.

“You don’t have to say it like that!” Yoshitaka says. “You like dudes, right? Because I’m a dude. So you should like me.”

Shindou’s expression is wary. “Don’t be dumb; you don’t like every girl in the universe,” he says.

“Yeah, well, most of them don’t play go with me, so,” Yoshitaka says, holding Shindou’s gaze. “So hypothetically,” he begins, balling his hands into fists. “Hypothetically, if I knew this girl who was really good at go and came over all the time and played video games with me and we went out to salons together and had lunch at the Ki-in basically every week, then this girl...” he trails off, not sure where he can take this.

“So...” Shindou starts. “You have a thing for Nase?”

Yoshitaka blinks. “What?”

Shindou’s mouth quirks into a smile he hurries to hide. “I mean, hypothetically. Hypothetically, maybe you have a thing for Nase.”

“What?” Yoshitaka repeats before it clicks. “No! Don’t be an idiot. It’s you, okay. _You_ are the girl.”

“I’m not a girl!” Shindou yelps. “Just because I kind of maybe sort of might a little bit be into guys, that doesn’t make me―”

“ _Shindou_ ,” Yoshitaka grits out. “You are the dumbest person I know. If you were a girl―”

“But I’m not!” he protests.

“If you were a girl,” Yoshitaka repeats, unballing his hands and letting his fingernails dig into his legs through his khakis. “I’m just saying, if. If you were a girl. Things’d be different.”

“Well, I’m _not_ , so...” Shindou says, turning his head to stare at the TV.

Yoshitaka bristles. “Shindou,” he growls, grabbing him by the shirt to demand his attention back. “Okay, look. You’re not a girl. I’m not into guys. This isn’t going anywhere,” he warns him, curling his fingers into the bunched-up fabric, steeling his voice with irritation so it doesn’t dare shake.

“What’s not?” Shindou asks.

Yoshitaka’s already suffered today about twice his usual allotment of inane questions from Shindou, so he skips the long-form answer and instead says simply “This.”

All it takes is a single yank on Shindou’s shirt to unbalance him and send him topping towards Yoshitaka; when Shindou plants his hands on Yoshitaka’s chest and looks up with wide eyes, Yoshitaka doesn’t have time for a single coherent thought to form across his consciousness before he presses his mouth to Shindou’s in a kiss.

And it is a kiss. It’s a kiss: his mouth is on Shindou’s, whose lips are surprisingly soft against his own, softer than they have any right to be. The lips under his are supple, the skin smooth and unchapped; he could be kissing Minami, or Kaede, or Aya. Kissing a guy should be different. It should feel different―rougher, maybe, or harder; it should taste different; it should _feel_ different, inside of himself. It should just be different, with a guy, because it is different, because there’s a reason why men kiss women and women kiss men and the people who mix that up get sidelined and side-eyed.

It should be different.

Shindou’s chest is flat under his hand; Kaede’s curves, those he’d thought of at the time as ‘boyish’, are almost lewd in his memory by comparison.

That’s different.

Yoshitaka flicks his tongue against Shindou’s closed lips, and they part just as readily as Minami’s did. Yoshitaka doesn’t slip inside, not yet, but he presses forward and slides their lips together, capturing Shindou’s top lip between both of his own.

Shindou’s hands spasm against his chest as he clutches Yoshitaka’s shirt; he makes a wordless yelp that Yoshitaka swallows, trying to block out the sound but he can’t, it’s Shindou, under his mouth and under his hands it’s Shindou.

While he still can, Yoshitaka pulls away, opening his eyes and watching Shindou’s hands fall to his sides and his eyes flutter open.

“How much more?” Yoshitaka asks, his throat rough.

“For?” Shindou asks breathlessly.

“You wanted to know what it was like,” Yoshitaka says hoarsely. “Kissing someone. You wanted to know what it was like.”

Shindou licks his lip. “I―yeah, I, um, I did,” he says, eyes dark.

“Was that enough?” Yoshitaka asks.

If Shindou says yes, then Yoshitaka’s done him a favour. If Shindou says no, then it’s Shindou’s idea.

Shindou’s lips part as he takes a deep breath before responding.

If Shindou says yes, then it’s over.

He hears the faint hitching inhalation of breath as Shindou pauses, and Yoshitaka knows he has only an instant in which to act.

“Fine,” he says, and it’s impossible to discern even by his own ears whether his tone is aggressive or desperate. “Then we’ll just have to do it again.”

This time, when Yoshitaka kisses him, Shindou’s lips are already parted, and Yoshitaka can slide his tongue inside with ease. He feels Shindou freeze under the hands he has at his waist, and he remembers how slowly he took it with Kaede and withdraws a little, instead letting his tongue brush against Shindou’s bottom lip. Shindou relaxes, and Yoshitaka lets his thumbs slide in slow, soothing strokes against Shindou’s sides.

Shindou’s soft lips purse around Yoshitaka’s top lip in a kiss, the very tip of Shindou’s tongue darting out to touch it in a fair imitation of what Yoshitaka had done to him.

Now, he thinks. Now is the time.

Yoshitaka reaffirms his grip on Shindou’s waist and kisses him back, sliding his tongue into Shindou’s mouth, kissing him slowly, deeply, giving Shindou an exemplar from which to learn. And Shindou does, mirroring him by setting his own hands upon Yoshitaka’s waist, sliding his tongue against Yoshitaka’s, answering every stroke of Yoshitaka’s with one of his own.

He kisses Shindou’s mouth again, flicking his tongue against Shindou’s, then again at a new angle, drawing his tongue along Shindou’s soft lower lip. Shindou answers him readily, and as they trade kisses back and forth Yoshitaka can feel the tension in his chest tensing, winding tight inside of him like a spring in anticipation of its release.

Shindou’s hands flutter against his sides, and the sound of Shindou’s panting is heavy in the room. Yoshitaka’s panting too, desperately trying to catch the breath that escapes him, and his hands are shaking as he reaches up to cradle Shindou’s head, drawing a line of messy kisses along Shindou’s jaw.

He hesitates as his lips brush Shindou’s earlobe. There’s something he can say, he’s pretty sure, that would rein this in and let him regain control of the situation, that would let him assert again just how incredibly heterosexual he is and just how completely uninterested he is in Shindou, but then it would stop. Everything would stop, and maybe it’s already too late, and if he doesn’t say the words then he can keep kissing Shindou, Shindou will keep kissing him, and he can keep chasing this feeling weighing so heavily in his chest and maybe even find out where it leads.

He slides his hands up from Shindou’s waist to his chest, meaning to settle on his shoulders, but along the way his thumb brushes across one of Shindou’s nipples through his shirt. Judging from the sharp inhalation Shindou sucks in, this is something worth exploring. None of Yoshitaka’s girlfriends have ever done this to him so it never occurred to him that this is something a guy might like, but it kind of makes sense―guys have nipples too, right? Without giving himself too much time to think about it, he reaches up under the hem of Shindou’s t-shirt, sliding his hands up across the flat, naked torso underneath, and grazes his fingertips across the hard little nubs of Shindou’s nipples.

“Ah―” Shindou gasps, breaking off when Yoshitaka sucks hard against his neck. Shindou’s fidgeting, shifting his weight as he spreads his legs, and Yoshitaka knows that fidget, has done that fidget too many times himself not to know it means that Shindou’s finding his jeans entirely too snug for his liking.

He’s doing this. Yoshitaka’s doing this, Yoshitaka’s the one doing it to Shindou, making him feel that way. He’s been where Shindou is, wound up and het up and surely aching with his need, and he won’t deny the smugness that tinges his satisfaction when Shindou squirms under his hands when Yoshitaka thumbs his nipple again and sucks down at the junction where Shindou’s neck meets his collar.

Shindou’s hands are scrabbling uselessly at his back, almost non-existent fingernails attempting to find purchase but failing, and Yoshitaka slides his left hand around to Shindou’s back and scrapes his own nails down the smooth flesh. Shindou arches under his touch, letting out another hitching gasp, and Yoshitaka can’t help wonder what sound he’d make if Yoshitaka cupped his groin.

Shindou’s spread his legs. He’s probably erect―and if he’s not, he’s undoubtedly getting there. Yoshitaka’s been there, he’s been that, he’s felt that, and he knows without question that what Shindou needs is a touch. Shindou needs someone touching him, stroking him, guiding him to a full erection, and Yoshitaka finds his own hand skating across the top of Shindou’s thigh before it hits him what exactly he’s about to do. It’s a thought too far, miles ahead of where Yoshitaka can comfortably see, and he can’t do it, he can’t, and so instead he wraps his arm instead around Shindou’s waist, fingers digging into his flesh as he sucks as hard as he can at Shindou’s neck, trying to banish the idea entirely.

He wasn’t going to. He never would, absolutely couldn’t. He’s not like that, not at all, and kissing Shindou’s one thing but that would be another. Kissing’s something you can do with anyone, as the ridiculous games he played at Aya’s high-school parties will attest. Touching is something else.

Yoshitaka grabs one of Shindou’s hands and drags it down to Shindou’s groin, cupping Shindou’s hand over his own bulge. “It’s okay,” Yoshitaka says against Shindou’s neck, pausing to suck another kiss into Shindou’s tanned skin. “If you need to. You can,” he says, and he’d intended to pull his own hand back but somehow it stays, loosely gripping Shindou’s hand as Shindou grasps himself, manoeuvring his cock into a more comfortable position through his jeans.

He’s surprised when Shindou stops, lifting their hands and setting them on Yoshitaka’s waist. “Are you...?” Shindou asks, voice breathy and light, and Yoshitaka definitely can’t let him finish that sentence. He leans in and kisses him, cutting off anything else Shindou might have wanted to say, and with cheeks aflame he shakes his hand free of Shindou’s to reach down and shove it under the waistband of his own pants, grasping his dick through his briefs and straightening it, letting it stand upright against his belly instead of trapped at an angle.

Before Shindou can crack any smart-ass remarks Yoshitaka dives in and kisses him again on the lips, licking at the corners of his mouth, kissing him over and over again. He’s light-headed, dizzy, delirious, and it’s not until his body slams against Shindou that he realises he’s shoved Shindou over, pushed him down against the side of the couch, and the predator in him slides his hands down to Shindou’s legs and spreads them, making a space between them in which Yoshitaka can comfortably lie.

Shindou’s eyes are wide and glassy; his lips are parted and flushed a deep, rosy red; his hair is a mess with his blond hair tucked back and mixing with black. Shindou’s shoulders heave as he pants, clawed hands clutching at seat-cushion underneath him.

Shindou wants him. Shindou _wants him_ , wants Yoshitaka to kiss him, wants Yoshitaka to touch him.

Yoshitaka reaches up and grabs the hem of Shindou’s baseball shirt. “Raise your arms,” he manages to get out, words scraping the sides of his hoarse throat, and the instant Shindou obeys Yoshitaka pulls the shirt upright, baring Shindou’s chest. The shirt makes it over Shindou’s head before tangling with his arms, and as Shindou squirms to fight with it Yoshitaka lets go and slides his hands up Shindou’s sides, rubbing his thumbs across Shindou’s nipples, earning an injured growl from the body underneath him. Yoshitaka bites his neck, sucks an apology against the teethmarks, then kisses his way up the column of Shindou’s throat.

Shindou writhes beneath him, and when Shindou disentangles himself from the shirt he grabs Yoshitaka’s face with both hands and draws him back in for a kiss. Shindou goes for broke, thrusting his tongue as deep as he can into Yoshitaka’s mouth, and Yoshitaka lets him because distracted as he is it means that Yoshitaka can run his hands along Shindou’s body, can capture a nipple between his thumb and index finger and worry it, and when Shindou gasps that’s when Yoshitaka makes his move with a quick swipe of tongue. He reins Shindou in, withdrawing just enough so he can place kiss after kiss on Shindou’s mouth at one new angle after another, and he doesn’t notice what Shindou’s doing until Shindou’s already unbuttoned the final button on Yoshitaka’s overshirt and he’s breaking the kiss to encourage it over Yoshitaka’s head. Yoshitaka’s still wearing his digi-camo long-sleeve underneath so it’s fine, it’s totally okay. Shindou’s skin is hot under his hands, Shindou’s mouth is pliant under his lips, and when Shindou pulls at his undershirt it’s still somehow okay and Yoshitaka ends up raising his hands over his head once more, the cool air of the room rushing against his newly-bared skin to soothe it from its fevered heat.

Shindou leans in to press light kisses along Yoshitaka’s collarbone as his hands trace along the lines and planes of Yoshitaka’s torso. Shindou ghosts his fingertips along one of Yoshitaka’s nipples and Yoshitaka shivers, lowering his head and pressing useless kisses against Shindou’s head, the taste of Shindou’s hairgel tangy on his lips.

Shindou’s mouth moves downwards, drawing a line of kisses down, and when Shindou’s lips close over one of Yoshitaka’s nipples he freezes in sensory overload; he can’t think of it, can’t register it, can’t feel anything beyond the throbbing of his cock as it insistently tents his khakis. Shindou sucks, sending lightning sparks of feeling tingling down his belly all the way to the tip of his cock, and when Shindou licks it with his soft, wet tongue Yoshitaka gasps out a sob, reaching down and grasping his cock through his pants, squeezing it at the base to try and moderate his need. He feels pre-come spurt from the head of his dick, soaking through the cotton of his underwear, and as Shindou drags his tongue across Yoshitaka’s chest to lap at his other nipple Yoshitaka squeezes himself tightly, stroking his thumb along the trapped length of his shaft.

Shindou grasps hold of Yoshitaka by the belt-loops on either hip, and Yoshitaka can’t bring himself to second-guess his actions when he arches into Shindou’s mouth, relishing the feel of Shindou’s slick tongue on his skin. Shindou breaks up his licking with kisses, with tiny, harmless nips against Yoshitaka’s skin, and when the idea pops into Yoshitaka’s head he puts it into action immediately, rising up on his knees and gaining inches in height that place Shindou’s attentions lower down on his torso. Shindou isn’t fazed at all and continues to lave kisses across Yoshitaka’s body, and now Yoshitaka dares to brace himself against the arm of the couch and raise himself up further. Shindou doesn’t stop for a second, trailing kisses along Yoshitaka’s stomach, and then Shindou’s tongue swipes across his belly, delving into his navel and swirling around, and Yoshitaka nearly collapses from the absolutely incomprehensible combination of sensitivity, ticklishness, and lust that pours through him.

“Fuck,” Yoshitaka sobs, sucking in a deep breath as Shindou retreats to safer territory, sucking a kiss into the soft flesh of Waya’s stomach. “Fuck, Shindou―” he starts, not knowing how to ask, if he should ask, and he balances himself with just his off-hand as he reaches down with his right to cup his erection again through his pants, to squeeze himself as he breathes deeply and tries to find his port in this storm. “Could you―fuck; could you, could you―” he bites out, hearing his voice shake and hating it. “Shindou, if you―you could practice, for your boyfriend or whatever, when you get one, you could―” He can’t say it, can’t bring himself to ask, but Shindou’s mouth is so close already, far closer now to Yoshitaka’s dick than Yoshitaka’s mouth, and it has to be obvious.

Shindou’s mouth stops sucking, leaving a tingle and a faintly chilly spot where his saliva cools on Yoshitaka’s skin. “You want...” Shindou trails off dangerously, his voice husky.

“I just―if you wanted to, you could see what it was like, if you―” Yoshitaka bites off.

“What?” Shindou asks, and there’s something to the timbre of his voice that tells Yoshitaka that he knows exactly what Yoshitaka’s saying and why he can’t say it.

“Suck me off,” Yoshitaka manages to say, the words out in the room now and in the air and in Shindou’s ears and it’s too late to take them back, it’s a hundred years too late to take back any of this. “Please. Please. You can―you can pretend I’m someone else. Someone you want to suck off. Just―I really want it,” he admits, shutting his eyes. “Please. Please, please, please―”

“Lie down.” Shindou’s voice is strangely calm, and when Yoshitaka brings himself to open his eyes again he sees Shindou looks it, lips still ruddy and red and his pupils still dilated and dark, but with an expression as composed as any he wears when he’s sitting on the opposite side of a goban.

Yes. It’s a yes. Maybe it’s a yes. It’s not a no. Shindou hasn’t said no, so Yoshitaka forces his locked joints to give and collapses backwards onto the couch, its second-hand springs creaking as he flops all his weight down at once.

Shindou straightens up, getting to his knees, looking oddly tall as he looks down on Yoshitaka. “This is practice,” he says.

“Yeah,” Yoshitaka says, attempting to clear his throat but unable to banish the hoarseness in his voice. “Just practice.”

“Okay,” Shindou says, wiping his sweaty palms against his thighs. “So you have to tell me how I’m doing.”

“Yeah,” Yoshitaka agrees, because Shindou could ask him to recite from memory every move made in all seven games of the Hon’inbou title challenge Ogata-sensei failed last month and he would, he’d find the words somehow, he’d undertake the impossible if only Shindou will keep looking at him like that, eyes flickering over him as if evaluating the best way to take him apart. “Of course, absolutely, no problem. I can do that. I can totally do that.”

“Okay,” Shindou repeats. “Take off your pants.”

Of course. His pants have to come off. Shindou can’t suck him off through his pants. He has to take them off. Even knowing that it still takes him what feels like the better part of the month to get his arms to move, to bring his hands to his fly and unbutton it, to draw the zipper down. He draws a heavy breath as he arches upwards, gaining the clearance he needs to shove his pants down past his hips and down his thighs, leaning forward to pull them all the way down and off. He drops them to the floor and then reclines again, slipping his thumbs down under the waistband of his briefs, pausing when his gaze meets Shindou’s.

“Take them off,” Shindou commands. “I’ll do it if you take them off.”

“Yeah, I’m doing it, I’m taking them off,” Yoshitaka says hurriedly, stretching the fabric so it doesn’t snag on his erection as he draws the underwear down, pulling them off and tossing them haphazardly away.

Shindou’s eyes are bright, so violently green that they could be lit from within. He leans down, balancing himself on hands he braces on either side of Yoshitaka, and for long seconds he waits, breathing slowly, deeply, watching Yoshitaka as Yoshitaka watches him.

Yoshitaka reaches up and grabs his face, a hand on either side of his jaw, drawing him in for a kiss. He doesn’t try to tongue Shindou and Shindou doesn’t try to tongue him, and for long seconds their lips slide against each other in one simple kiss after another, and Yoshitaka’s not even sure who’s winning.

When they part Shindou’s still looking at him, still staring, so Yoshitaka grabs one of his hands and draws it down to Yoshitaka’s aching cock. “Shindou,” he says and he’s begging, he can’t even pretend it’s anything else but a supplication.

Shindou’s hand grasps him and gives him a stroke from base to tip, his grip firm, and Yoshitaka thrusts up into Shindou’s touch. “Okay,” Shindou says, and then he’s lowering his head and Yoshitaka’s watching him go down and Shindou’s actually going to do this and it’s actually going to happen and then Shindou’s tongue swipes across the tip of his cock and Yoshitaka collapses against the couch, able only to moan.

Shindou’s touch is anything but hesitant; he takes none of the time Minami or Aya had needed to acclimate and instead gives Yoshitaka another lick, this time along the underside of Yoshitaka’s cock. “ _Oh_ ,” Yoshitaka gasps, rolling his head back, shutting his eyes as hard as he can. “Oh, fuck―”

Shindou licks him again, tongue circling around the head of his cock, and Yoshitaka’s moaning and he can’t bring himself to care at all.

Then Shindou stops.

“So is this...?” Shindou trails off, tone lilting up at the end in a question.

Right. Feedback. This is practice for Shindou, or something. “Um, yeah. Good. It’s great. You’re off to a great start. Do it some more,” Yoshitaka babbles, grabbing a handful of couch cushion in each hand as he resists the urge to grab Shindou by the hair and shove him back onto his dick.

“‘kay,” Shindou says, and his thumb strokes along the underside of Yoshitaka’s dick as Shindou draws his tongue along the top. He repeats the motion, this time milking pre-come from the tip, and Yoshitaka watches through his lashes as Shindou licks the bead of fluid from his dick, drawing a sparkling thread of pre-come away as he leans back, which finally snaps just as he gives Yoshitaka’s dick another long stroke with his tongue.

“In your mouth. Suck me. I mean, that’s what you should do next. Please,” Yoshitaka says, fisting his hands so hard into the cushion that he can feel it start to warp.

“Sure,” Shindou says, and then he’s leaning in and Yoshitaka’s cock is sliding into his mouth, the space hot and slick and wet and it’s _good_ , so much better than he can remember from the last time someone did this for him, and then Shindou’s moving, he’s bobbing his head, he’s sucking as he slides his mouth up Yoshitaka’s shaft, then down, and he keeps going, and he isn’t stopping, and Yoshitaka’s never felt anything like this before in his whole life.

It’s different. It’s _different_ with Shindou, different with him than with a girl, and of course it is. Yoshitaka’s an idiot. He’s an idiot because of course it’s different, of course it’s better; a guy knows what to do. A guy knows what feels good. A guy knows what he’s doing, and of course Shindou knows, of course he’s good at this, because he’s a guy, and it makes perfect sense. Shindou is sucking his cock and it’s amazing and of course it is; how could he have ever thought otherwise.

Shindou pulls his mouth off Yoshitaka’s dick with an audible pop. “Good?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yoshitaka grits out. “Do it some more.”

“Okay, good. I wasn’t sure since you weren’t saying anything,” Shindou says, stroking Yoshitaka’s spit-slick dick with his hand while his mouth is occupied with the mundane business of talking.

“It’s great. You’re great. You’re really great,” Yoshitaka manages to say, the words coming easier as Shindou lowers his head once more. “It’s really good how you―how you’re, you’re sucking, and―and with your tongue, you―” he tries to describe as Shindou’s doing it, his nervous system overloaded with sensations, his brain lightheaded and starved of oxygen since it feels like all of the blood in his body is pouring into his impossibly hard erection. “That, underneath, right there, where you―your tongue,” he tries to say as Shindou’s tongue strokes insistently at the ridge between corona and shaft. “It’s―it’s good, it’s so good―”

Shindou loosens his grip, switching from a full-hand grip on Yoshitaka’s cock to a simple loop with his index and thumb, sliding it down to the base of Yoshitaka’s dick, and before his mind can process more than its absence Shindou’s sliding his mouth further down Yoshitaka’s dick, swallowing more of him, and he loses the ability to think in fully-formed words. But he has to say something, has to keep talking or Shindou will stop and Shindou can’t stop now, not when he’s sucking so much of Yoshitaka’s dick.

“Fuck,” he moans, the sound embarrassingly loud through Shindou’s wet slurps. “Shindou, that―it’s― _fuck_ , like that, like that, keep doing it like that, it’s―just, God, your mouth, it’s good―” and Shindou doesn’t stop, Shindou keeps sucking while he jacks Yoshitaka with just that tight ring of thumb and index finger, his hand keeping time with his mouth. Then there’s another hand, a new one, first on his thigh and then sliding up to his groin, and when Shindou lightly grasps his sac Yoshitaka bucks, shoving his cock as deep into Shindou’s mouth as Shindou will let him.

No one’s ever touched Yoshitaka’s balls while doing this; the idea hadn’t even occurred to him, and the bright shock of feeling jolting through Yoshitaka’s system is amazing; this is all so amazing; it’s like Shindou’s reinvented the blowjob. “ _Fuck_ ,” Yoshitaka moans, biting his lip so hard that a taste like burnt copper darts across his tongue. “Fuck, Shindou―”

He’s going to come.

The realization hits him only moments before; Yoshitaka manages to gasp out “ _Shindou_ ―” and reach out to grab a handful of bright blond hair before it happens; he meant to pull Shindou back, maybe, but instead he pulls forward, holding Shindou in place as he shudders and thrusts forward, his dick pulsing as he blows his load, pumping spurt after spurt into Shindou’s waiting mouth.

As sudden and as hard as it hits him, it lasts for only moments before Yoshitaka collapses back against the couch, letting go of Shindou’s hair and the cushion both as he slumps in a sweaty mess.

It takes him ages to learn how to breathe again, how to open his eyes, how to rediscover the world around him, and when he does Shindou’s kneeling again, fly down and dick in hand. Shindou’s panting as he jacks himself off, moving so briskly that his fist is a blur as he works his cock. Shindou’s eyes are shut, his cheeks are red, his mouth open as he sucks in breath after breath. There’s a white, viscous smear along his bottom lip―it’s come, Yoshitaka’s come, and he’s not sure what happened to the rest but he probably would have noticed if Shindou had dashed off to spit it out so maybe he swallowed it. And Yoshitaka just came and even at his quickest and most insatiable he needs a couple minutes more than this to recover but still he feels a thick pulse of desire throb through him at the thought that Shindou, the guy with whom he has lunch practically every Wednesday, the guy with whom he goes trawling through salons on a monthly basis, the guy who never remembers to pick up diet sodas for Honda when it’s his turn to bring refreshments to the study group, just swallowed his load.

Yoshitaka knows he owes him one. “Hold on a sec,” he says roughly, pulling himself upright and grabbing Shindou’s wrist. Shindou turns to stare at him, eyes wide, and before he can think of all the reasons why he shouldn’t Yoshitaka slides behind him, reaching forward and knocking Shindou’s hand aside before he grasps Shindou’s dick in his own hand. “I got this,” he tells Shindou, and begins to stroke.

It’s not as weird as he would have thought; it’s pretty similar to doing it to himself, positioned as he is, though Shindou’s thicker cock means his hand feels strangely out of shape.

“Faster,” Shindou says, his voice low and hoarse. “Lighter―like that. Like that,” he repeats, swallowing hard and throwing his head back as he pants.

Yoshitaka can’t resist the temptation of Shindou’s bared throat; he leans in and sucks a kiss against the unmarked skin on this side. Shindou’s pants turn ragged, and when Shindou starts to thrust his cock into Yoshitaka’s fist Yoshitaka knows he’s close, and is able to summon the energy for a final burst of speed, jacking Shindou as quickly as he can.

Shindou grits his teeth and lets out a low, wordless howl as he comes, cock throbbing in Yoshitaka’s grasp, his jism spurting in thick pulses. Yoshitaka strokes him through it, letting his touch slow and soften as Shindou quiets.

As they recover their breaths, Yoshitaka lets his gaze draw over the living room floor. It’s not until he sees the come streaking across his khakis that he realizes this was incredibly poorly thought-out; thank God it didn’t get on the tatami. But it means that he can’t wear them again, so he should probably go grab something else from the bedroom. But if he leaves without saying anything then Shindou might think―something, he might think something, and the fact that Yoshitaka has no idea what that might be is enough to send him in a momentary panic before Shindou straightens up and all thought flees from his mind.

Shindou reaches down and tucks himself back into his fly, zipping up his jeans. “So, okay,” he says, tone a little unsteady.

Yoshitaka really, really can’t be naked for this conversation. “Look,” he says, tugging Shindou on the shoulder to encourage him to turn around, and when Shindou does he succumbs to impulse and kisses him.

Shindou kisses him back, their mouths moving together in a kiss of such slow sweetness that it’s almost surprising. It’s... it’s perfect, their kiss, this kiss they’re doing together. Yoshitaka taught him this. Yoshitaka taught him how to kiss, and when Shindou finds himself a boyfriend he’s going to kiss his boyfriend just like this, and it doesn’t matter if Shindou’s in love with Touya or whatever because Yoshitaka had him first.

He pulls back, leaning over to grab the dirtied clothes off the floor and darting to his feet before he can have any more incriminating thoughts. “Gonna change,” he says, launching himself towards the bedroom.

He can’t take too long. If he takes too long then Shindou will have time to think, and maybe he’ll worry, and that would be a dick move. Yoshitaka grabs a new pair of underwear from his top drawer, boxers this time, and shrugs into the first t-shirt he finds in his clean laundry basket before snagging a pair of baggy cargo pants.

He can’t have been more than a minute before he re-emerges into the living room. “Hey,” he says.

Shindou looks up from the TV. With his shirt on, he somehow looks entirely normal. “We missed the interview. Game’s just started, though,” he says, the wariness in his tone the only betrayal of what happened between them.

He shrugs, hoping to look as casual as possible. “I taped it; you can borrow it tonight if you promise to tell me what the heck he said,” he offers.

Shindou rolls his eyes. “‘I’m the greatest go player in the world and _so_ clever and I’m definitely going to win Guksu this year and Korea is the best country in the world and everyone loves me and I have the prettiest hair ever’,” he says in a falsetto that in no way resembles what Ko Yeong-ha actually sounds like, given that Ko Yeong-ha’s natural speaking voice is at least a full octave below Shindou’s. “There. Pretty sure I covered everything.”

“You’re such a dork,” Yoshitaka says, rolling his eyes right back. “Move over. You’re hogging the couch.”

Shindou chucks a throw pillow at him, and as he dodges the ineffectual missile he can’t help but grin.

This. This is them. This is him and Shindou, how things are supposed to be, and everything’s fine. Everything’s great.

And the next time Shindou busts out his stupid phone app, Yoshitaka won’t lodge a single word of protest.


End file.
